


Travellers

by Talullah



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas arrives at Nargothrond and makes a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Travellers

**Author's Note:**

> Legendarium Ladies April - Prompts for April 16 
> 
> **General Prompt: Reigns and Rulerships**  
>  With Tolkien’s stories centered around the ruling classes of Middle-earth, a surprising amount of women do get to be in rulership positions. From the reigns of the Valier to the headship of a Hobbit family, as the infamous Lalia Clayhanger-Took who assumed a matriarchal rule for twenty years, to the reluctance of Tar-Vanimeldë to be involved in the leadership of Númenor, or the women of post-Darkening Valinor, explore how one of Tolkien’s deals with the privileges and trappings (or the lack of them) of reigning or ruling.  
> ________________________________________  
>  **Picture Prompt: The Moon, “Lucid”, by Crystal Liu**  
>   
>  ________________________________________  
>  **Poetry Prompt: Travellers, by Conceição Lima:**  
>  They bore sunsets and roads  
> Thirst for the horizon called them  
> \- Who do you belong to?  
> Who are your people?  
> That’s how our grandmother held out  
> A mug of water to the traveller
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Nargothrond, F.A. 52**

The weary party arrived at Nargothrond without pomp or ceremony. The sun was close to setting, but everywhere people moved, working. Dusty elven men and women carried pails, parcels, dragged carts of broken rock from one side to the other. Numerous dwarves clang away at the rock with their chisels and hammers, some suspended from the high cliff over the river. Finduilas wondered if they were carving windows for natural light and air flow or if those slits were for defense. Whatever it was, Finduilas yearned to learn why and how it was being built.

She kept her eyes fixed on the workers as the party dismounted by the left margin of the Narog and patiently waited for a barge to come for them, nibbling on their last supper of dried meat and waybread. Their journey had been long and perilous, at times, starting with an encounter with a band of orcs right after the Pass of Anach. They had just completed the descent through the Pass and crossing the Mindeb was at the forefront of her mind. The horses would not love the gelid torrent and the slippery rocks of the small but tumultuous river. The scouts had come back with news of signs of orcs not even two leagues ahead.

Orodreth’s first reaction had been to talk of sending her away, back to her grandfather’s house but, fortunately, she had convinced him that it would be folly to break the group in two parts. She was no warrior, but she could shoot a few arrows and so could the few other women in their group. They had waited anxiously, through the night, no fires lit to break the cold of early spring. There were two young boys in the group. Finduilas listened to their hushed discussion on how best to shoot their slings and the best places to hit the orcs. Endearing as they were, she hoped that they would not be tried as warriors so soon. The orc party was large but in a hurry and sometime after the setting of the moon, they passed them by without noticing their presence behind the trees and the rocks.

The next day they had crossed the icy stream of the Mindeb and had kept the Crissaegrim to their right for several days, slowly turning south until they reached the Ford of Brithiach. Finduilas had seen their planned trajectory in the maps, before leaving and she expected the journey to be long and rigorous, but spring spreading through the land had been a delight to her eyes, something so very far removed from the crossing of the Helcaraxë that the word ‘journey’ seemed inadequate to describe both events.

After the crossing of the Siron at Brithiach, they had continued westward, through the fringes of Brethil, until they reached the crossings of the Taeglin. The Haladin were reputed to keep the Forest of Brethil clean, as best as they could, but it was not until they were riding through the Talath Dirnen, the Guarded Plain, that Finduilas felt safe, under the watch of Amon Rûdh. The plains were covered in soft, downy grass that made Finduilas sneeze. Their journey, with all the careful stops and small detours had taken long enough for summer to come.

And thus it was that on a sweltering summer afternoon, she had first seen the rocky façade of Nargothrond, her new home. A surge of energy coursed through her, erasing the months of journey. When they crossed the river – not an easy feat, getting the horses and the carts on the barge, a small but very mixed committee greeted them.

“The Felagund is away, hunting in the Taur-en-Faroth,” said a dwarf in an accent-tinged Sindarin, handing them mugs of spring water with a fresh, metallic taste. “We were expecting you about a week ago. Was there any problem?”

Finduilas knew that the question was more than a pleasantry. Any signs of the enemy were precious intelligence. She walked behind the dwarf and her father, as they headed to the base of the cliff.

“Fíriel will take you to your apartments,” the dwarf said to a Sinda woman dressed in leather trousers, as they stopped at an entrance to the caves.

“Of course, lady Fréya,” Fíriel said, bowing slightly to the dwarf.

Finduilas raised an eyebrow. She had not realized that their guide and, apparently, her uncle’s second in command was a woman.

Politely, she thanked Fréya and bid her good night before Fíriel lead them through the halls of Norgothrond, leaving the members of the party in their respective lodgings one by one. Finduilas marveled at the level of organization of the Nargothrond builders but also at how the natural caves were being worked into something majestic and full of beauty. She could not wait for seeing them in better light.

Fíriel showed them to their adjoining rooms. The last door in that secluded corridor was to Finrod’s rooms, Fíriel said. Finduilas watched her leave, wondering how she would ever find her way back to the main halls and to the exterior in the morning.

* * *

She had a bed in her room and a wash stand. Sending a little prayer in thanks to whomever had filled her pitcher with that fresh spring water, she briefly washed her face and hands before falling into the bed, over the coverlet, fully dressed.

When she woke, Finduilas had no idea if it was close to the morning or not. After so many weeks sleeping under the starlight, the darkness of a room inside a cave was unsettling. She palpated the floor next to the bed, cursing herself for not thinking of searching for a candle the night before. Finding nothing, she fumbled around in the dark until she found the knob of the door and opened it, to be greeted by a faint glow of daylight.

From the shadows, Fíriel rose to her feet, startling Finduilas.

Embarrassed, Finduilas tried to compose her hair. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I have just arrived,” Fíriel said.

“I do not want to be a burden,” Finduilas started. Then she thought she would be much more of a burden if people had to spend time looking for her if she got lost in the caves. “Thank you, Fíriel,” she said.

Fíriel nodded. “I will show you were we eat our meals. You might still get a few leftovers from breakfast, but since we are close to lunch time you can wait for that, if you would like.”

“I wish I had woken sooner...” Finduilas said, embarrassed.

Fíriel smiled. “Do not worry – you were tired from the journey and besides, only the dwarves seem to awake and go to sleep in the caves naturally.”

“Have you been here for long?” Finduilas asked, as she followed Fíriel down a staircase she did not remember from the previous night.

“Yes, from the beginning. When Lord Finrod goes away I am responsible for managing the house and the Lady Fréya for the construction work.”

“I had never seen a dwarf woman,” Finduilas said.

“I had never seen a dwarf at all, before coming here from Nevrast,” replied Fíriel, with a guffaw.

Finduilas laughed. “I had not either, to be truthful. She seems formidably competent…”

“She is a veritable tyrant, very demanding, but she is the one who works the hardest, so all alike, elves and dwarves, respect her. Your uncle listens to her every word. She is also the leader of her clan, back in the Ered Luin, we gathered from a few remarks… not that they talk too much about themselves, the dwarves.”

The corridor they followed turned to the left and suddenly the smell of fresh bread and hot stew filled Finduilas’s nostrils. Her stomach grumbled, making Fíriel laugh.

“I suppose I will have lunch with you, if you do not mind, Lady Finduilas.”

“Please, just Finduilas.” Finduilas asked, as they entered a large domed hall. She already liked Fíriel, and wanted her for a friend. The title would only create a distance between them that felt unwarranted in the lively Nargothrond.

“Very well, Finduilas,”Fíriel replied, unfazed.

Finduilas and Fíriel collected bowls and spoons from a table and both stood in line, waiting for their turn to be served.

“We are in luck,” said Fíriel. “It is still a little early for lunch. In half-an-hour or so this place will be positively crawling with people. Only the young ones eat at this hour.”

Finduilas followed her gaze and noticed how, in the line ahead, most of the people standing were young elves.

“The young ones also do their share of the work, mind you,” Fíriel said. We try to find them lighter tasks, and they have mandatory classes in the morning. Your uncle makes a point of having an educated people.”

An instant image of herself teaching mathematics caught Finduilas’s imagination. She would like to do that. Perhaps she could also teach a little geography and history.

“Would you have any need for-” she started.

“Yes!” Fíriel cut as they reached the cook and extended their bowls. “We do, in fact, need teachers very badly. The woman who was teaching writing and reading to the small ones is having a baby of her own. Will your uncle and father allow you to work?”

“They will have trouble keeping me from work!” Finduilas replied, amused, sitting at the table, opposite Fíriel. “What else can I do?”

Fíriel raised an eyebrow, giving Finduilas an appreciative look. “How do you feel about growing food?”

Finduilas grinned. “It sounds far better than doing embroidery…”

Fíriel slowly nodded, savouring her stew. “We have this project… There are some natural openings in the upper levels that get some daylight. We want to see if we can grow a few things there, should we ever be barred of going into the plains or the forest.”

“I see,” Finduilas said, a shadow momentarily casting darkness into her sunny mood. “I do not know much beyond gardening. Father made sure I had the upbringing of a proper lady. That being said, when can I start and who will I answer to?”

Fíriel smiled. “I do hope that you keep that enthusiasm.”

“If we had wine, I would toast to new beginnings and hard work,” Finduilas replied.

Fíriel grinned. “Let us toast with water instead.”

* * *

Finrod returned two weeks later. He had left a letter with instructions for Orodreth and her father, although not too pleased with her activities, had been busy enough to leave Finduilas to her own. Truth be told, Orodreth had often expressed pride in her work, albeit reluctantly. Finduilas went to bed every night exhausted but happier than she could ever remember being in her life.

When the horns of the hunters sounded, Finduilas had just finished dinner with her father and was headed to her room, to prepare the lesson for the morning. Instead, she followed the crowd as men, women and children came to the entrance of the caves to greet the party. Surrounded by the crowd, under the light of the full moon, was her uncle, whom she had not seen in almost ten years. Finrod had not changed, smiling kindly, listening to all, emanating warmth. She saw Fíriel waiting behind the Lady Fréya and her father, while Finrod listened to the former and affectionately embraced the second. 

“Where is my great-niece?” Finduilas heard Finrod asking. She cut through the crowd and fell into his arms, crying “Uncle!” 

“Look at you,” Finrod said, after a moment, stepping back from the embrace.

Finduilas was conscious of her appearance, the dirty apron, the broken fingernails. For a moment, she feared that Finrod would chastise her for her activities, but instead he said, “You look like you have been busy! You must tell me all about it.”

Then, in true Finrod fashion, he turned and called Fíriel with a question about grain provisions, picked up a child who kept pulling the hem of his tunic and kissed her cheek, and called for a Guilin who was with the hunting party.

The whole group moved inside as one, everyone talking, laughing, relieving the hunters from their burden. A few young ones took the horses away, someone shouted for food. Finduilas felt like she had suddenly dropped into a party. By her side, though, Fíriel stood quiet, no smile gracing her face, an absent look wandering through the unfinished sculpting on the walls of the great hall.

Finduilas took her hand and whispered to her ear, “What is the matter?”

Fíriel game a little smile and shook her head, as if dispelling a thought.

“Nothing.”

Finduilas followed her gaze and saw a man looking back at Fíriel, both hastily turning their faces after a few moments.

“That is Guilin’s son, Gelmir,” said Fíriel. “We were…” Fíriel bit her lip.

“Were what?” Finduilas asked?

“In love, once,” Fíriel said. “Sort of.”

Finduilas looked again at the man. By his Gelmir’s side, his brother, Gwindor, stared back at her. He was handsome. She could not quite place him, but she knew they had met before, perhaps in Hithlum, in the early days.

“Not anymore?” she asked Fíriel, without averting her eyes from the man.

“No.” Fíriel said, turning her back to the crowd. “Listen, it is late and I have already greeted the Lord Finrod. I am sure that tomorrow we will speak at length but I would rather retire now.”

Finduilas was startled at her friend’s change of tone. “Of course,” she said. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

She stood in place for a few moments more, before walking over to where her uncle and father stood drinking wine. Somebody played the lute and a few sang. Two flutes soon joined them. The dwarves were off to a corner, drinking ale and singing their own loud, dirty songs, which Finduilas pretended not to hear, as amusing as they were. Gwindor walked up to them, bowed to her father and pulled her by the hand to dance.

Finduilas smiled, followed his lead, let herself be driven by the joy of the night. She did love Nargothrond, each day more. Gwidor was funny and brazen. As they danced, he pulled her just a little too close, but no one seemed to care. Gelmir stood against pillar for a while, watching the couples dancing, until he disappeared into the shadows. Finduilas wondered what mystery this was. She liked Fíriel immensely. In the two weeks since her arrival at Nargothrond, they had become fast friends.

“Do not think about it too hard,” Gwindor said to her ear, over the music, startling Finduilas.

“What?” she inelegantly asked.

Gwindor pulled her to the side. “Let us have some ale, or would you rather have wine?”

“Ale is fine,” Finduilas said. “Ooh, tomorrow will be a fine day…” she added with a little laugh as she followed him to the caskets where the dwarves gathered.

“It will be a fine day,” Gwindor said. “With such a jewel inhabiting this grand city, every day will be a fine day henceforth!”

Finduilas burst out laughing. “That was terrible but thank you, all the same.”

“Too over the top?” Gwindor asked, his eyes shining in the firelight.

“Yes,” Finduilas said smiling. She sipped her ale, watching as Gwindor gently lifted a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“I know I am being too forward,” he said.

“You are,” Finduilas promptly confirmed, laughing.

They stood for a moment, facing each other. The music stopped and somebody shouted that it was time for the children to go to bed. People laughed and talked as they ebbed away from the great hall. Gwindor stood too close to Finduilas, but she did not step back. The warmth of the body of a perfect stranger did things to her.

“Finduilas, let us go,” Orodreth called, startling her.

Gwindor took her hand and kissed her palm. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said.

Finduilas left from his side, wondering how suddenly she felt this happiness threatening to burst from her, when just a few hours before she thought she could not possibly be more satisfied with her life. As she passed by the corridor that lead to Fíriel’s room, she remembered her friend and felt guilty for neglecting her. Fíriel was probably asleep already and tomorrow would be another day.

Tomorrow. Finduilas stopped for a moment, under a sliver of moonlight seeping from one of the airing slits. She had a tomorrow. She had fulfilling work, a family who loved her, a friend to treasure, maybe a lover to come… She had tomorrow in her hands.

_Finis  
April, 2016_


End file.
